


Just Break Glass

by forparadise



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:38:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11050533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forparadise/pseuds/forparadise
Summary: Stiles and Derek share a secret.Directly follows my previously posted Scott/Isaac ficTakes place sometime after season 2





	Just Break Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Part 4 in a series of Teen Wolf fics I was writing back in the day. Decided to polish it up and give it a post! I stopped watching the series around season 3 or 4 so the plot is pretty outdated.

*

*

Stiles is sitting on the steps around the side of Beacon Hills High School when he notices a car ease up and stop a few feet away from him. He glances over to see Derek sitting behind the wheel of his Camero, window three quarters down.

"Hey," Derek says through the open space, seeming only half interested, eyeing the doors behind Stiles instead.

Stiles laughs.

"You... really don't have anything to do with your time, do you?"

"Where's Scott?" Derek asks, finally making eye-contact, ignoring the jab.

"Where is Scott indeed. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Although, maybe you already knew." Derek remains silent, so Stiles continues, eyebrows raised, "As in, why don't you ask your bestie, Issac?"

"What the hell are you going on about?" There is blatant irritation in Derek's tone.

Stiles watches him for a moment. His annoyance tells Stiles that the man was as much in the dark about it as he was, so he leans his elbows back on the step behind him with a sigh.

"I dunno. He's supposed to come to my place after school though. Sooo, if you give me a drive home, you can wait for him there.”

"...What happened to your car?" Derek seems hesitant, but it's not a no, so Stiles grabs his bag and stands up from the step.

"It's a long story." he responds, opening the back door and tossing his bag inside.

-

The two don't speak a word to each other during the short drive to Stiles' house, and Stiles sits staring with little interest out of the passenger window throughout most of it.

When Derek pulls into the driveway, he hesitates before turning in his seat.

"What's going on? Was Scott even at school today?" His tone is accusatory, but Stiles ignores it and reaches back to grab his bag before stepping out of the car.

"If you want to talk, just... come inside," he says, and he heads up the walkway towards the front door. It's a few moments later when he hears the rumble of the engine cease and Derek's footsteps behind him.

-

Stiles throws open the door to his bedroom and tosses his bag on the bed. He scrounges through the discarded clothes on the floor of his closet, finding the quarter empty bottle of vodka he had hidden there a few weeks previous.

He realizes just how rebelliously adolescent it must seem to Derek, when the other man flashes him a disapproving look before taking a seat in the chair near his desk. Stiles could care less. He unscrews the cap, and settles on the edge of his bed.

Derek watches him as he drinks, and Stiles can immediately feel a warming numbness in his toes and fingertips as he brings the bottle to his lips a few times, cringing after each sip. The two are silent for a while, and when Stiles notices Derek finally open his mouth to speak, he cuts him off.

"Scott and Isaac are fucking, you know."

He didn't realize how good it would feel to share the information until he blurts it out.

Derek attempts to pretend he isn't taken aback.

"They can't be. I would know... I would have smelled it on him." Stiles can see the disbelief in his eyes.

"Well, whether this was their first time, or whatever, they're _doin' it_. I can pretty much guaran-fuckin-tee that."

Derek's gaze falls to the carpet and he is silent again.

"I heard them in the washroom at school. I left class during first period and when I got there, I could hear them together. I heard Scott..." he trails off and goes to lift the bottle to his lips once again. "I stayed outside the washroom to make sure no one would walk in on them."

Derek gives him a bewildered look.

"I didn't know what else to do! I couldn't let them get caught in there... when I heard Scott leaving I took off as fast as I could. And now—here I am."

 

Derek's lack of a reaction bothers him, but he can't say he hadn't expected it. It was good enough to know that he wasn't the only one in the dark. _Misery loves company_ , he thinks to himself. They've all had more than their fair share of that recently, it seemed.

"Do you remember the last time you were in my room?" Stiles asks, distantly. It comes out of nowhere, and Derek looks at him, but doesn't respond.

Stiles stares at the bottle in his hands. "You were trying on all of those clothes... and Danny was here?"

"What about it?" Derek sighs.

"I dunno. Just reminiscing, I guess. It was pretty ridiculous," he pauses briefly. "You did look pretty hot in that one shirt, though."

He doesn't know why he says it, but there it is. After a moment, he glances up to notice Derek idly shuffling through some papers on the desk, brow furrowed in mock concentration. Stiles tips the bottle to his lips again before looking away.

He's so frustrated he can _feel_ it; he just wants to punch something—or scream, as loud as he can. But these are the things we are taught _not_ to do when our emotions are brimming, so instead he takes another drink from the half empty bottle in his hand.

He can't even explain why he's feeling this way; he knows it's because of Scott, on top of everything else that's been happening. He doesn't know _why_ that was the icing on the cake, though. It wasn't like he was particularly jealous of Scott and Isaac; he had always seen Scott and Allison as being great for each other, and never felt any type of resentment towards their relationship. The fact that Scott would choose to be with _Isaac_ once he and Allison started having problems—well that was his prerogative, as stupid as Stiles thought it was.

But as he considered it, perhaps it was that Scott could so easily do something Stiles could only ever fantasize about. That once again, Scott takes a dramatic leap into something, like it was no big deal. Maybe he was just tired of being so cautious. Of being so scared of everything.

He startles at the sound of Derek's voice interrupting his thoughts.

"I should leave." Derek goes to stand, but Stiles jumps up first. He positions himself half-blocking the door.

"Why? Don't you want proof? Scott will be here any minute—won't you be able to tell as soon as he walks in?"

"That's exactly why. Scott will know that I know, and I don't really have the energy for all of this drama right now."

Stiles laughs bitterly. "I think you just don't want him to know that you know. Because you're jealous."

Derek moves towards the door, but Stiles is still standing in front of it.

Derek's look is a challenging one. "You're not even making sense. Get the hell out of my way."

Stiles stands his ground defiantly.

"You totally are jealous. Because you probably like Isaac. I mean, why else would you have turned him in the first place? Because you felt sorry for him? Because _he_ needed to be a part of something, like your pathetic make-shift pack? Gimme a break."

Derek is staring down at him, but Stiles got over being intimidated by Derek a few sips ago. And when he really thought about it, probably quite some time before that, too.

"I mean I can't blame you. I'm kinda jealous, myself. I just... why can't Scott come to me anymore? It's like my opinion means nothing. Do you know how long we've been friends? And it's _Isaac's_ arms he goes running into?"

He slumps against the door and lifts the bottle to his lips once again, but Derek reaches out and grabs his hand, stopping him.

"You've got some issues," he says, but his touch is gentle enough.

"Oh, and you're the poster-boy for rationality, aren't you?" his skin is buzzing from the alcohol, and his face flushes as he moves his hand and the bottle back down to his side.

To his surprise, Derek sits back down in the chair next to them, and allows himself a deep breath.

"It's like he doesn't even respect everything I've done for him."

Stiles is considerably blown away at the attempt of a dialogue, so he crouches down next to the man, balancing on the balls of his feet. "Tell me about it," he responds, and offers the bottle up with a little wave.

Derek eyes it with disdain for a moment, but then grabs it and takes a long, slow drink anyway. Instead of giving it back though, he places it carefully on the floor next to him.

Stiles flashes him an annoyed look, but there's something about Derek's demeanor, about his unconventional way of opening up—it makes something stir inside of him. He wonders how many people get to see this side of the man.

Derek isn't looking at him though and the room is filled with a thick silence. Only a moment passes, but it's more than Stiles can bear; he stands again and without much consideration and reaches across Derek's lap for the bottle next to him.

"I think you've had enough of that," Derek says, grabbing his hand once again. His grip is tighter this time, and he doesn't let go, even when Stiles tries to pull away.

He's so close Stiles can feel the warmth of his breath on his skin, and it makes something clench deep inside his gut. He puts on an unconvincing show of trying to pull his arm away, but Derek only moves his hand smoothly up Stiles' forearm, his fingers wrapping around his elbow.

They're making eye-contact; not so much looking into each other's eyes as they are _watching_ —trying to catch any hesitations in the other. Stiles feels his face heating up, and wants desperately to look away, but something tells him he can't. He feels like he's being tested.

It's hard for him to believe what's happening—that this could be _going_ somewhere, but he feels, if that's the case, he needs to gain some upper hand. He needs to keep some of the control.

He swings one leg up and over Derek's, so that he's now standing with a leg on either side of his thighs, and then hesitates for only a breath before lowering himself down onto the man's lap.

He really can't tell what Derek is thinking—whether it's about him, Isaac, or maybe even Scott—but he moves quickly, one hand still holding Stiles' arm, while the other winds around his lower back and pulls him in closer—so close his stomach is pressing against the lower half of Derek's chest.

He's buzzed and already half-hard. He knows Derek can feel it, so to keep from wavering, to keep his mind from thinking this over too much, he dips his head down and presses their mouths together. It's sloppy at first, but Derek moves his hand to the side of Stiles' head, fingers in his short hair, and they begin moving with more control—eyes sliding shut, lips parting, tongues slowly pressing together—shy at first, but quickly gaining confidence.

Stiles brings both hands up to touch Derek's shoulders, his neck; running his fingers through his hair, pulling at his shirt. They kiss until Stiles is out of breath, and he only pulls back when Derek whispers _slow down_. He realizes how aggressive he's being—rubbing his cock against Derek's stomach, feeling too constricted inside his jeans, his fingernails digging into the man's flesh wherever he can touch him. He reddens at the idea that he must seem desperate, but only a moment after he pulls away, Derek brings their mouths together again; he pushes his free hand between Stiles' legs, cupping him through the material, rubbing and tugging enough to make Stiles whine against the other mans lips.

He can feel Derek's dick, thick and hard underneath him, pressing against the back of his thigh through too many layers of clothing. When Stiles feels like he can't handle another second, he grabs Derek's forearm with one hand, and with a bit of resistance manages to push Derek's hand away.

He keeps condoms in the dresser next to his bed—how frequently he needed them was a different matter—but when the thought crosses his mind that now might be the time, he swallows thickly and pulls himself off of Derek's lap, turning without explanation and making his way to the dresser with a few long strides. He slides the top drawer open and his hands fumble as they dig for the box. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep from getting flustered. He hates to imagine Derek's face as he watches him. He doesn't even know how Derek will react to the assumption, but he finds the box and pulls one out anyway, gripping it so tightly in his hand along with a half emptied bottle of lube, that he has to will himself calm in fear of breaking it.

He closes the drawer silently, and after a few breaths and as much conviction as he can muster, he spins around and catches Derek's eyes with his own.

His face doesn't give much away. But Stiles notices how his chest and shoulders rise and fall with each breath; and when he sees Derek's hand reach down to slowly unclasp the button of his jeans, his fingers pulling the zipper down with a slight raise of his hips, he wonders if he'll even be able to make the short trip back without losing his cool.

When he gets there he practically throws the items into Derek's lap and reaches for his own belt, loosening it with a bit of effort. He undoes his jeans and drops them to his ankles along with his boxers, stepping out of them. He can feel Derek's eyes moving over him and he almost regrets his forwardness, but Derek reaches for him and with strong arms pulls Stiles, hard, back down onto his lap, and all doubt leaves his mind.

They manage to get Derek's pants down around his knees, and Stiles let's his hands explore as Derek prepares himself by stretching the condom over his dick; his eyebrows pulling together as his slick palm works to spread the lube over it in smooth strokes. Stiles slips his hands up the front of his shirt and pulls it off with a tug, throwing it onto the floor behind him. His lips and tongue move over Derek's chest, and before long Derek is ready. He stops the boy, and with his hands holding Stiles' hips firmly, he lifts his waist up and with a smooth motion begins to lower him back down over his cock, lips parting as he pushes into him.

Stiles tries to stay calm as Derek pushes into him as slowly as possible, but his thighs are shaking, so he presses forward with the hope of losing himself in a kiss.

His hands are gripping the back of the chair behind the other man's shoulders; his legs at Derek's sides, resting over each of the chair arms. They're so close that Stiles' dick is pressing hard against Derek's stomach, and with each thrust—every time Derek pushes just a little bit deeper inside—he moans deep in his throat, overwhelmed by the friction coming at him from every angle.

He pushes his cheek against the side of Derek's head, wet mouth against his hair, and he talks. The sound of his own voice helps keep him grounded, and Derek doesn't seem to mind; with each _yes_ , _oh_ _god_ , and _don't fucking stop_ , Derek's hands grip tighter, become a little more confident in their touches. They're up the back of Stiles' shirt, and his nails rake down the boys smooth back in a steady motion. When they reach his hips again, he digs his fingers into the flesh there, and slowly picks up a pleasing rhythm of moving the boys pelvis along with each of his own thrusts.

Stiles knows—as he grabs the back of Derek's head with one shaking hand, breathing into his ear; _just like that_ , _please don't stop_ —that he's not doing very much to help. But Derek is strong and controlled; and when Stiles throws his body back abruptly—shaking with orgasm, his voice cracking as he cries out into the quiet, still room—Derek keeps hold of his waist, steadying him. Stiles vaguely registers Derek's own deep voice as he gives one final thrust, his muscles and hands tightening.

When Derek eases his hold on the other boy, and their breathing begins to even, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' waist and presses his forehead to his chest, eyes closed.

They stay sitting like that until the flush leaves their cheeks, and the endorphin's buzzing through their bodies dissipate.

-

Stiles doesn't know how long they sit there for, but he finally pulls away, and on shaky legs makes his way down to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

After cleaning himself up, and throwing his dirty shirt into the hamper, he heads back into the bedroom to find Derek already cleaned and dressed.

"I should be going," he says after a moment. His look is gentle enough.

When Derek passes him, he brushes the fingers of one hand across Stiles forearm.

-

Once he's alone, Stiles lays face up on his bed, sprawled out on top of the covers.

His skin still tingles wherever Derek had touched him. He feels tired, his buzz almost completely gone.

He can't help but wonder if what happened between them was Derek's way of preparing to face Scott and Isaac—his own secret to keep from them, a childish response to their little affair. If it was, Stiles could care less. He couldn't be sure that he hadn't done it for that same reason, himself.

He realizes that Scott will probably have some of his own questions to ask when he gets there.

 

*

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End file.
